The Performance of His Life
by jugglequeen
Summary: Set in season 9. What is going on in Mulder's head when Scully and Skinner find him in his prison cell and the plays the role of a brainwashed inmate?


He doesn't need to turn around to know it's her.

When they brought him into this cell, he wasn't sure whether this was good or bad. Believing that something good will happen in his life had become a very difficult task. Almost impossible even, yet essential to his survival. The hope of being able to see them again, Scully and William, if only for one last short moment, was all that kept him going these past lonely months. Only since he has been incarcerated in this black, moldy hole of a jail, has he almost lost all hope. Almost.

He couldn't count on her finding him this time. They had brought him to some kind of military facility, if they wanted his residence to remain secret, it definitely would be impossible to locate his whereabouts, even for a special agent of the FBI. A very good special agent. The best he can think of. But she found him even so. Of course, she did.

Now he's not so sure anymore if it's really so good she's here. For his sanity, yes, it's the best that could happen to him. The very idea of seeing her beautiful face, cerulean eyes, and perfectly shaped lips pumps zest for life back into his system, a vitality he already thought lost. He feels stronger and more powerful, almost reinvigorated enough to withstand the torture techniques they have applied and will most likely continue to apply to him.

What will they do to him when they realize their brainwashing hasn't broken him yet? That his compliance has been nothing but a charade to make them stop torturing him? And what will they do to her when they learn how much she means to him? That she is everything to him? He can't let them have the upper hand. Allowing them to know how much he loves her, that she is the only thing preserving his will to live, to fight them, would be like serving his head on a silver platter, and hers along with it. He can't let them know, under any circumstances. He has to give another performance and stay in the role of the brainwashed inmate, of the man who has surrendered and accepted his guilt. For his sake, but more importantly, for Scully's.

"Mulder," he hears her whisper, his back still turned to her. Her sweet voice has always had the capability to soothe him but it is his undoing now, because although being only a whisper it's crying out to him. 'Mulder, I'm so glad I found you,' it says. 'Mulder, I missed you. I needed you, where have you been?' He even makes out a faint, 'Mulder, I love you.' As an afterthought, as if she was uncertain, fearful, that it would be like the last time he returned to her when he had come back a different man, unable to fit himself back into her life. Although he hates doing this to her he turns around, the line he wants to deliver already on his lips, and finds himself totally unprepared for what the sight of her does to him.

God, what happened to her? Where is the bliss she radiated when he last saw her? Despite the grief of having to let him part from her and their newborn son, there was a felicitousness and confidence bouncing off of her which almost swept him off his feet. "We're going to get through this, Mulder," she assured him, kissing the peachy head of their (hers and his!) baby boy sleeping peacefully in her arms. "We will be waiting for you as long as it takes," she said, adding, "I have faith in us as a family, Mulder. When it's safe for you to return to us, we will leave it all behind us for good and it will be just the three of us. And we will be happy."

Where did her faith go? Her belief that everything would turn out well for them after all? That they would finally get the piece of happiness they deserve? There is none of it when he looks at her now. He sees a woman on edge, struggling to keep it together, to not crumble into pieces right in front of him. She wants to be strong for him, he reckons, and it makes him hate himself even more for what he is going to do. But he doesn't have a choice.

"Dana," he says, knowing full well that the use of her first name must feel like a punch to the gut, and he actually sees the impact of his verbal fist: her eyes widen a little more, her shoulders droop a little more, and she exchanges a worried look with Skinner who is, as was expected, at her side. She brushes her misgivings away, locks them up inside, approaches him and envelopes herself around him, squeezing and rocking him gently.

Oh, the feel of it! He tries to distance himself, needing to shield himself from her affection to be able to stay in his role, but he doesn't know how. It simply feels too good after so many months of separation to have her wrapped around him, holding him as if she never wants to let him go. He felt so lonely without her. How many nights did he crave her being in his arms just like this when he was lying on his back on an uncomfortable bunk bed in a beat-up trailer somewhere in New Mexico staring at the ceiling? His hands make contact with her shoulder blades because he cannot not touch her. He wants to touch her hips, squeeze her waist, stroke through her hair so much more, but he can't. If he feels a little more of her, he will be tempted to go further, and he mustn't.

He's actually a little proud of his ability to keep his act together so stoically, that he has himself under control. His hands aren't traveling on their own Accord, and he remains a pillar of salt in her embrace but then she kisses his cheek, and the softness of her lips and her sweet breath tickle his skin so beguilingly, his body starts melting into hers. He knows all too well he has to pull back, away from her, quickly, otherwise, he will lose control and kiss her, exposing himself in front of the guard who is watching them like a hawk. So he gathers all his strength to look right through her beautiful eyes that are begging for some kind of sign from him. He draws from the power her love is giving him and eliminates from his voice the myriad of emotions he is feeling to make it sound uninvolved, cold even. He asks her if she is okay, and the way her soft facial features harden tells him he's done pretty well.

How he hates himself, despises himself utterly, loathes himself for hurting her over and over and over again. This gorgeous woman who would have been so much better off without him, whom he should have let go of years ago, but wasn't able to. Being the selfish coward he is he held on to her, allowed for them to become even closer. Intimate. They had been intimate emotionally for years but their physical intimacy was a whole new thing. It was like standing in front of heaven's gate when she came in his arms for the first time with him inside her. From then on, they had been one, literally. Indivisibly welded together. They made a baby together, created life, it can't get any closer between two people.

Eventually, by getting her pregnant he had given her something instead of being the reason things were taken from her. He had been able to give her what she wanted the most: a child, beautiful William. It had filled him with so much joy and gratitude that these feelings deluded him into thinking that parting from them to keep them safe would work. He believed her when she said it would only be a short time until they reunited.

How stupid he was. He should have known better. _She_ should have known better. Known that they would never be allowed to be happy and carefree. That there was some force out there - human or alien, divine or devilish, or maybe all of it - that begrudged them even the most humble happiness. During his isolation, he has lost hope, has accepted his fate, and willingly succumbed to the loneliness and the pain in its tow. He has lost his optimism, his faith, and his ability to believe that somewhere along the road there had to be an exit for him, a refuge to escape to, a place where she was waiting for him, his son in her arms, where he could let himself fall and where he would be loved and cared for.

He has lost all his vigor, but not she. She is still not willing to give up on them, he can read it in her determined eyes. What has he done to deserve this unbelievably strong woman and her stamina?

"Mulder, I haven't seen you in such a long time. I was so worried," she says, her soft palm lingering on his cheek and her eyes scanning his face for a reaction he can't give her. Back in the day, they often communicated just by looking into each other's eyes. They put on poker faces to leave their opponents in the dark, exchanging a secret plan and arranging their next moves non-verbally. They are both masters of the skill, and he knows he could do the very same right now, could tell her he isn't okay at all, that he needs her to get him out of here, that he can't do it alone.

But he doesn't. He mustn't. Under no circumstance. "It's okay. I'm alright. They're treating me really well in here," he replies instead, drawing from the last bit of resolve he has left as her fingertips graze gently along his jaw. Her caress travels from his face to his chest, where her hand comes to a rest. Does she feel his heart hammering in his ribcage? She's silent for a moment, searching his face for answers.

Does she believe him? No, she doesn't. Of course not. The happiness to see him might have clouded her initial judgment but she finally gets the sense that something is wrong. The fine line between her eyebrows and the shade of gray darkening her blue irises tell him. Maybe he isn't the actor he thinks he is. "What's happened to you?" she asks, her eyes pleading with him. She's in tune with him now, in full non-verbal mode, sending him signals that have to be ignored and cruelly whipped back toward her. There is no other option. "Nothing," he replies, trying to sound as if he means it. "I'm squared away."

He almost has to laugh at how ridiculous it sounds being dressed in prison orange and showing cuts and bruises speaking of mistreatment. Her eyes tell him she's not buying a single word he's saying. 'Mulder, it's me,' they shout at him, 'confide in me!' Her worried look gnaws at his resolve. He's responsible yet again for making her miserable. How come the person he wants to make happy the most ends up suffering because of him again and again? He would give his right arm if it was necessary to make her happy even if only for a day. Jeez, he would give his life.

Will. He _will_ give his life. For her. Them.

William and Scully will be much better off without him. Scully will mourn him, yes, will feel like a widow probably, although they had never been legally married. And William will probably ask about his father when he gets older. Maybe. Hopefully. But all in all, they will be better off when he's gone.

And he will be. Gone. That's as sure as night follows day. They will prosecute him for murder in a ridiculously fake trial and the verdict is already clear. He will be found guilty, and they will impose the death penalty. This time, they will get rid of him for good. And with him not being a pain in their asses anymore, they will leave her alone. Them. Scully and William, mother and son, the love of his life and their miracle baby boy. He can do that for them, can't he? He owes them a life devoid of threat and fear, a life in the light instead of the darkness.

He just wishes he could have his share. It's hard to be as altruistic as he wants to be. Her proximity makes him want his share. She's pushing aside the good intentions he so rationally developed with her compassion and her warmth and her loveliness and her beauty and the million other wonderful traits she has. He feels his determination weaken, it's what makes him tear his gaze away from her and turn to the other person in the room. He has to mislead another true friend and ally with his acting talent, has to deceive Skinner likewise to protect him from the toxic consequences of being acquainted with Fox Spooky Mulder, but most of all, he counts on him to convince Scully to let go of him. If Skinner believes he's a lost cause, he might be able to make Scully believe it too.

"Hey, Walter! Good to see you, man!" he cheers as if he ran into him in a bar. Like Scully, Skinner is disturbed by his unemotional bearing. His former boss explains the precarious situation to him, how severe it is and what his rights are as a defendant. "Whatever you were doing, you have the right to a lawyer," he says, "to an inquiry and process of law."

The words lead Mulder to the thought that Scully probably didn't find him here but that it is more likely Skinner was informed of the misconduct his subordinate agent had committed. The realization stings initially, sending a sentiment of having been forgotten and given up on through his body, but only for a moment. He then understands that he is being unfair. Of course, she wasn't looking for him, it had been their agreement that he would decide when the time was right for him to return. He would only come back when he wouldn't compromise Scully and William anymore, when it would be safe for all three of them.

Skinner's explanations are unnecessary, he knows darn well how serious his situation is. It's hopeless, to be precise. He doesn't need a lawyer. He can't be helped, defended, bailed out of jail. His fate is sealed and he's already accepted it. He's embracing the opportunity actually, he just needs to make them let go of him. One last effort and they will hopefully understand that they have to move forward without him.

Fortunately, the guard's sharp command to end the conversation helps him out although it's most certainly not the soldier's intention to be of service to him. The man must have sensed Scully's determination to get to the bottom of things, to reach out to his true soul through the brainwashed shell of a person he tries to convince everyone he is. She's not to be intimidated, though. No, this woman never gives up. This woman is an infinite source of strength.

"We're gonna get you outta here," she assures him and her facial expression tells him she means it. She'd probably even help him break out in a cloak-and-dagger operation, risking her own life holding the guards at gunpoint if need be. He can't let that happen. He can't let her be accused of aiding and abetting, but the resolution to do whatever is needed is ingrained in every fiber of her being, and it frightens him. He has to put an end to her fighting for him. Once and for all. Only he can't as long as he's facing her, so he turns around to the window where he closes his eyes to the bright light flowing through it. He pretends to engage himself in a soliloquy, gives one last performance of an irretrievably lost detainee and it seems to do the trick, they are leaving. Thank god, they are finally leaving.

 _Go. Please, go. And never come back._

He's not sure he could do this one more time. He feels so weak. So alone. Abandoned. Cold.

 _Scully..._

He doesn't need to see her to be able to tell she's watching him under the small window that ironically sheds a bright light on him now that he's in the darkest place ever. The warmth of her gaze envelops him like a fluffy blanket. He can hear her mind working, this beautiful brain of hers that never ceases to operate, to weigh the options, evaluate facts, and work out a plan. He just prays she will give it a break and let it rest just this once. Just this once he needs her to leave him to his fate.

And then he hears the iron gate slam shut. They are gone. She is gone. That's it.

 _Oh my god...Scullayyy!_

He will never see her again. Never kiss her again. Never make love to her again. He won't see his son grow up. Never read a story to him. Never teach him how to shoot hoops. Never. The future holds nothing but darkness for him, the only silver lining being the knowledge that they are in the light. Finally, he's managed to free her from this crazy quest of his which had brought her so much pain, so much loss.

 _Scully,_ his mind whispers inaudibly for the guard still present, _I love you_.

He always has and always will. All he can do now is hope she knows that, despite his play-acting. If the pain wasn't so overwhelming he would be proud of himself, of how he outfoxed them. Fox William Mulder outwitted Dr. Dana Katherine Scully, she who can usually read his every thought and anticipate his every move. Who would have thought? He convinced her in the manner of a star actor giving an award-worthy performance. He made her believe. Finally.

 _Ha!_

He did great.

Relief settles in, satisfaction over having achieved what he had set out to achieve. But the good feeling only stays for a short moment before it's overshadowed by a dark one. Coldness and hopelessness crawl up his spine and make themselves felt in every part of his body from the very core to the lower limbs as realization kicks in.

He's completely, utterly, all fucked-up.


End file.
